


Dustsceawung

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: Men in Black (Movies), The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Angst, Apocalypse, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Drama, Emotional Constipation, Grief/Mourning, I needed to add those last few tags because of OLD!Kay, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Romance, So yeah, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25344694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: Pipe dreams were still dreams, after all.
Relationships: Agent Jay & Agent Kay (Men in Black), Agent Jay/Agent Kay (Men in Black)
Kudos: 19





	Dustsceawung

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own "Men in Black III" & "The Walking Dead" or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: I wanted to bring the zombie apocalypse into the Men in Black universe. So, this could be considered a crossover with "The Walking Dead", but it really just uses the concept of the zombie apocalypse and government bodies trying to work together before everything really hits the shitter.
> 
> Warnings: pre-slash, emotional constipation, feelings, zombie apocalypse, canon appropriate violence, drama, angst, romance, grief, PTSD, blood and gore.

He wasn't there when Kay died.

He didn't get to hold his hand as all that grouchy, incredible life slipped away.

He didn't get to stand at his funeral and say all those things he wanted to say.

Good things. Funny things. Frustrated things. Angry things.

Kay didn't get a funeral.

No one did.

Because this time, the world really did end.

And there was no going back.

* * *

The ones who survived the first wave of the infection scattered. Living day to day. Trying to find somewhere to hole up as the safe-zones fell one after another. It wasn't like anything he'd ever seen, and he'd seen a hell of a lot. More than most. The aliens they were on good terms with were just as stumped as them. They'd sent samples of the virus off planet to try and find a cure. But with the planetary quarantine, no one knew if they'd been successful.

He figured no news meant they were still working on it.

The alternative wasn't something he wanted to think about.

And Headquarters? Well, let's just say O hadn't gone down without a fight. The blast wave had taken out most of Manhattan when the self-destruct went. He knew some made it off-world, hitching a ride with the aliens who had transports. But most stayed till the end. Working till the end. Opening the lines of communication right to the CDC in an effort to find a cure. Secrecy had gone out the window, but it was too late. All the agency could do was throw in every bit of advanced technology they had to come up with a cure.

They managed to make some real progress with the CDC in France before it went dark.

It had bought them time.

Just not enough.

* * *

He heard it go down on the back-channels as he desperately tried to get back to New York. _To Kay._ That was before everything went down. When the twins were still keeping the lights on and Kay was god knows where - probably up to his ass in deadheads. Forgetting he was only human. Forgetting he didn't have back-up. Taking on way more than he could handle. And he wasn't there. He wasn't-

Kay didn't die making some grand statement.

Or by saving the world.

He died quietly, on a rooftop on upper Manhattan, because there was no more room on the rescue helicopter. They said he emptied his clip into the ones that got through the stairwell barricade. But that he saved the last bullet for himself. Standing alone on the edge of the skyline as the power started thumping off like a dying heartbeat. Swallowing the barrel of his gun and pulling the trigger. Black suit rippling like a broken wing as he fell back down to the city below.

He was gone.

Which might have been why he hauled back and punched him as hard as he could when the younger Kay popped into existence beside him three days later. Lifting his head to look at him with a wan smile and bloody hands. Like no time had passed at all since that sunny afternoon in 1969.

* * *

"You miss him," Kay remarked one morning. The start of laugh lines you could eat breakfast out of etched across his face. Highlighted by the layers of dirt and blood that'd all but cemented themselves overnight.

It was weird.

Referring to _his_ Kay like he was an entirely different person. It made something thing his chest clinch up. Not quite painfully, but with enough discomfort that he felt it all the damn time.

"Yeah, man. But I miss a lot of things, you know? Like Chinese food. ESPN. _Showers_ ," he answered easily. Tossing his head back to look at him with a pointed brow as he packed up their gear. Checking the power-cell in his phaser-rifle for the forth time since he woke up.

It was a lie.

He didn't miss a lot of things.

Not a lot of things that mattered anyway.

_Not like Kay._

"You can't lie to me, Hondo. You never could. Don't figure there's a good reason to start now, do you?" the man deadpanned, systematically taking apart his Glock to clean it. Eyes not once leaving his work.

But he knew better than to assume he was safe.

Kay was an asshole like that.

He could always find all the parts that hurt.

Somewhere out of their line of sight, a woman screamed. It was high, exhausted and desperate, but cut out mid-warble. Over before they could do anything about it.

Seems like that had been happening a lot lately.

His teeth firmed into an angry line behind his lips. But instead of answering, he looked down the rocky outcropping where they'd spent the night. Watching as a couple of deadheads shuffled awkwardly along the dirt path below. Stumbling into each other, trees- everything. Hearing them, smelling them, but not quite sure where they were.

These ones were worse than the others.

Because he recognized them.

He hadn't known their names, but he recognized faces. They'd been in a larger group together less than a week ago. Survivors from all over, one or two had even talked about a plane crash. They'd gone their separate ways at the state line. Everyone was going back to somewhere. Home. Friends. Family. Somewhere they figured would be safe. One of them, a university kid, had been set on getting back into New York. Refusing to believe him when he told her he'd already tried – that there was nothing left. There had been a couple people who went with her. Spending all night pouring over subway lay-outs. Trading with the others to get enough flashlights and batteries to get them through.

He wondered if they made it.

"What do you want me to say?" he gritted. Ignoring the part that remembered how it'd felt. Seeing him standing there. Whole. _Alive_. Eying him with that banal glare he'd know anywhere. One hand pressing against his jaw in wake of the punch. Looking like he was about to say something before he beat him to it. Strangling a sound and grabbing him up. It had been a brutal, awkward embrace he didn't even remember initiating. Startling the others he'd been with as they whispered wearily – weapons in hand. But when Kay had grabbed him back, wide palms curling deep into the wreck of his jacket, the whispers had stopped. They understood.

He'd witnessed people find loved ones here and there. But it wasn't until it happened to him that he really understood. It had thickened in his throat until he could barely breathe. So fucking relieved that for the first time since Kay- since _everything_ , he felt like he might actually be okay after all.

"The truth is a good start, chief," Kay returned, easy as anything as he started to reassemble his gun. Tucking everything neatly into his pack before muting the rasp of the zipper with his palm. Tracking the deadheads wandering nearby with a look that only made the lines on his forehead deepen.

But honestly, it just pissed him off more.

"What kind of question is that anyway, Kay?"

A bullshit one. _Obviously_.

But Kay didn't say anything.

He just let him talk.

He shook his head, tongue tasting iron-salt as he worried at a cut on the corner of his lip.

"Man, why did you come here?" he rasped finally, knowing he was avoiding the real questions and hating himself for it at the same time. He didn't want to know. But he needed too at the same time. "You left everything behind…O…everyone. This isn't your time or your fight. Why the hell would you get involved in this mess?"

"Why do you think? Because you're here, slick," Kay answered. Like it was simple. Stamping his right foot a little – the one that always got pins and needles when he sat still for too long.

"Because we're partners?" he pressed.

The answer came surprisingly fast.

"Yes-" then, after a beat, "-no."

Kay actually at the grace to twist his lips a little, like he was annoyed at himself.

He snorted. The sound rude and wet.

"Now whose lying?" he muttered, trying not to let on how much he related.

Kay looked up, eyes piercing. And while he hated himself for it, instinctively- he caved.

"I miss- I _missed_ both of you," he countered, because it was true. "But my Kay? He's gone and I have to deal with that. So, I'd appreciate if you'd get off my back about how I'm dealin' when I haven't had time to-"

But Kay cut him off before he could finish. That alone more surprising than anything as the man took a step forward. One fist clenching against his thigh like a tell. Yet another reminder that he wasn't _his_ Kay. Maybe now he'd never be. He'd be different. He'd be Kay, but-

"You know why Griffin sent me back? Because I asked him to."

He stilled, back stiffening. Mind blank.

"What?"

They hadn't had time to talk about everything, not completely. He'd assumed that Griff had had a hand in it, sure- but that there was a plan or a screw up. Something that would eventually end with Kay leaving, going safely back to his time to try and change things in the future so none of this would happen.

Pipe dreams were still dreams, after all.

"He appeared in my time, at the diner, covered in blood. Scared the daylights right out of me. He told me you lost me… _your Kay_. So, I asked. I knew you'd need me. It's where I wanted to be, even with this whole mess."

Part of him wanted to hate him. Hate him for all those moments Kay had given him in 1969. Way more than the starving, grouchy fraction his Kay had ever given him. But _especially_ for this.

He slumped against the flat boulder they'd used as a table, then a bed. Drained and strung out. Aware that Kay was watching him. That he'd barely looked at anything and anyone else since he'd popped into existence beside him. Seeming to mean every word of what he'd said as he looked at him steadily.

" _Man, why did you come here? You left everything behind…O…everyone. This isn't your time or your fight. Why the hell would you get involved in this mess?"_

_"Why do you think? Because you're here, slick."_

_"Because we're partners?"_

" _Yes- no."_

"What are we doing, Kay?" he asked finally. More confused than anything when something in the pit of his stomach jumped with excited warmth as Kay fixed him with an encouraging grin. Not sure how he meant it as the words left him in a soft, exhausted rush.

"Right now? Right now we're surviving. Maybe we can make a difference as we do, I don't know. And sure, I don't know what the next step is. Only that Griffin told me there might be something down the line, a better future. A way to fix all this. So, I figure it's worth a try. Whatcha say, slick?"

He straightened, extending his hand as Kay took it immediately, helping him up the rest of the way. Letting his actions answer for him, as he eased his gun back in the holster and grabbed his pack. Returning the easy nod Kay sent him before their fingers brushed away from each other.

It wasn't an answer to anything, but it could just be reason to make the best of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Reference:
> 
> \- Dustsceawung: 'contemplation of the dust.' Reflection on former civilizations and people and on the knowledge that all things will turn to dust.


End file.
